


The Sword and the Spoon

by CourtesySmiles



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Fighter Pilots, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Merlin, Supernatural Elements, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtesySmiles/pseuds/CourtesySmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1940, and Wing Commander Arthur Pendragon has been gunned down just outside of his base at Gravesend. Merlin hears him calling for help, and they are reunited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Across the lake, far in the distance now, far from  him now, the little boat drifted on the gentle current, forlorn.

  
He must say goodbye.

  
Lake Avalon glittered. The Lady opened her arms. Soon the man he loved would be gone, and the world he knew with it.

  
He was sweating and uncomfortable. Beneath him he could feel cold, hard stone.

  
He opened his eyes, his heart hammering.  He was awake. Something had woken him up.

  
He jumped up to standing, his bones creaking and cracking from disuse. What had it been? There was only one thing he could believe would wake him, and yet... did he dare believe it? He uttered a spell and bathed the room in light, and looked around. The bunker he had chosen for his tomb had changed little, save for the dust he had disturbed which now settled and tickled in his throat. How many years had it been? What new world would he find up there? He had lived through so many new worlds already and he was tired. But if this new world had brought with it that one thing he used to hope for with each dawning...

  
He made his decision. He had magically sealed the bunker shut against the world he had started to despise, and now it was time to break that magic, open the door, and step back into the world he had thought he'd never see again. Arthur was finally calling him.

 

 

  
  
The day above was new, just breaking, washed in silver. Merlin pushed heavily upwards against the bunker door and it fell open with a resounding bang, disturbing a pile of rubble nearby, half of which tipped into the now open bunker and over Merlin's head, showering him in dust and debris. He gripped hold of the ladder he was standing on and shut his eyes tight, waiting for it to settle. Once he was sure it had, he again poked his head out the bunker, and he couldn't believe what he saw.

  
The site he'd chosen for his bunker was beneath a house on Brick Lane he'd purchased for specifically this reason. It was run down and derelict, and he had set a few enchantments around it to keep people away so he would be safe in his deep sleep beneath it. Maybe he should have left London, and sealed himself away somewhere more remote, but even in his despair he couldn't leave the capital. Even in his despair he still believed that if Arthur ever did return, this is where he'd be.

  
The year was 1914 when he had given in to his misery. Albion had made it out of the Great War but it was far from unscathed, and its once and future king had never come to its aid. Prophecy was a skill he was still not privy to but centuries of wandering the world alone had at least left in him an innate sense of danger. When war was declared in 1914, he had long been expecting it. In fact, he'd been prepared for it for nearly fifteen years.

  
Evil, be it human or supernatural, is a powerful, living force, and in his long, lonely years, he had learned how to sense it. Just before the turn of the twentieth century, he knew something big was coming. An evil so big it would swallow the world if it isn't stopped. And he was so sure that it was time. It wasn't only Albion that was in trouble, it was the world, and Arthur could not ignore that.

  
And so, on the turn of the century, Merlin had gone back to Lake Avalon and he had waited. If Arthur was to be re-born, it would be here, and Merlin needed to be the one to find him.

  
Fourteen years he waited. Watching. Nothing happened. In 1914, when war was declared, he left Lake Avalon.

  
He spent the four years of the war in London, looking for Arthur, wondering, hoping against hope and common sense that he had missed something, and when he didn't find him, he gave up. He magically walled himself up in his bunker and enchanted himself into a deep sleep. Only one thing could wake him.

  
The house was nothing but dust and rubble. The whole street was much the same. A broken cross-section of what were once homes. Empty shells. Discarded posessions.  
A siren cut through the still silence of the morning, and his heart fell. He knew that sound. He knew it all too well. He knew the dread it heralded, the all-pervasive, all-consuming terror and devestation. That sound was war and death and destruction.

  
And then, another sound. Quieter than the first, but no less insistent. It was coming from inside him, he could feel it heavy in his chest, bearing down on him. It choked him. It was a voice, a voice he knew better than his own. He fell to his knees in the rubble, pressing both hands to his chest, holding his breath, holding the voice deep inside him. He was weeping, deep, strangled sobs, his teeth gritted, his eyes shut tight, as he let the joy of hearing that voice again wash over him like agony.

  
At last, when it was too much, he threw his head back and took a breath, and the voice shuddered from him in a ball of shimmering, glittering light.

  
Merlin...

  
Merlin.

  
The ball of light bobbed in front of him, beckoning, begging. He reached his hand out and touched it with the tip of one finger.

  
'Take me,' he choked. 'Take me to him.'

 

 

  
  
Time passing or distance travelled were mortal concerns and as such, inconsequential to him. But now he felt every second passing, every mile beneath his feet. And all the time, the voice pulsed from the ball of light, cutting through him, carrying him.

  
Specifically where he'd actually been led was of little importance, he only knew he was far south of London when at last he saw the plane. It was in a field, the only thing there, discarded like a child would discard a plaything it has tired of. And inside, he knew who waited for him. He ran.

  
The ball of light sped ahead of him, always just in front, lighting the way in the now dying light of the day. The voice ever persistent, demanding. He ran, he stumbled once, he righted himself, he ran harder.

  
He could see a hand. It was stretched out on the ground. Seeing it hit him like a lance to his armour. His breath, ragged and painful now from running, caught hard in his chest. His legs went weak, and he fell.

  
The ball of light came to rest delicately on the grass before him, bobbing and shining, calm. The hand he knew so well was barely an arm's length from him. The fingers were still. Merlin reached his arm out, inching his body forward.

  
The ball of light bobbed forward and stopped just between Merlin's hand and the one he reached for. A tiny yellow flower was poking from between the blades of grass, and as the light shone on it, it bloomed, the yellow so bright, like fire.

  
Merlin pulled himself forward another inch. He saw a shock of blond hair.

  
'Arthur...' he croaked, his voice breaking, quiet.

  
Arthur's hand twitched. Merlin grasped it at the wrist. He willed his friend to move.

  
'Arthur,' he said again. He shook his arm. Nothing. 'Arthur. Don't be a prat.'

  
A groan. Merlin's heart leapt. He knelt up and inched closer.

  
'Arthur?'

  
'Who are you calling a prat?'

  
That voice. That voice he'd waited so long to hear again. Merlin laughed out loud.

  
'You're all right! Let me help you.'

  
He hooked his hands under Arthur's shoulders and gently tugged him from the plane, landing backwards with a thud and a groan onto the grass, his arms gripped tight around his friend, holding him close.

  
The last time I held him like this... he thought, tears jumping unbidden to his eyes.

  
'I've broken a rib, I think,' Arthur said, his voice slurring, his body squirming against Merlin's hold.

  
Merlin moved away from underneath him, positioning him gently on the grass. The ball of light rested briefly by Arthur's head, disappearing suddenly when it caught his eye and he turned his head to look at it, leaving only the little yellow flower in its place. His eyes focused on it and for a moment he was lost in something that could have been a memory. A memory of a dark cave,  and a little yellow flower that grows in its deepest recesses, and a powerful witch leaving him for dead, and a ball of light showing him the way.

  
'How did you find me?' he asked in a distant voice.

  
'How did I find that massive smoking plane over there, you mean?' Merlin laughed. Arthur laughed too, wincing suddenly and holding a hand tight to his side. 'You have to keep still,' Merlin told him.

  
'Are you telling me what to do?' Arthur grumbled.

  
Merlin smiled. 'I'm sure you wouldn't listen even if I was.'

  
Arthur looked at him. It was a look he knew well. A look he had missed. His eyes were blue as ever, piercing and arresting in their intensity. Merlin held his breath for fear of all the things he thought he might say, all the things he dreamed of saying. He was brimming with everything this meant to him. This right here was all he had wanted and prayed for, through his long, lonely centuries of waiting. It was really him. His Arthur, his King, returned to him and to Albion at last.

  
'Do I know you?' Arthur finally asked, his nose crumpling in confusion.

  
Merlin felt the blood drain from his face; he felt suddenly weak, as if he had been beat across the back of the head. He swallowed, his throat scratchy and dry and painful from forcing down everything he had been finding the words to say, all lost in that moment when he realised the truth: Arthur did not know who he was.

  
Merlin forced a smile, the blood rushing in his ears, tears behind his eyes. 'No, you don't. You don't know me. But I'll stay. I'll look after you.'

 

 

 

  
Arthur's plane had taken a bad hit. Not only was the communication system down, but the navigation too, so neither could be sure where exactly he'd been gunned down, and he had no way of contacting his base. The smoke was getting worse, and the day had long given way to night.

  
'We have to find some shelter,' Merlin said.

  
'I need to get back to my base.' Arthur tried to stand and buckled quickly under the pain.

  
'You can't go anywhere like this,' Merlin told him, pushing him back down and holding him gently there. 'You could have a concussion. You've almost certainly broken more than one rib.'

  
Arthur snorted in derision. 'What would you know about it?'

  
'I'm a medic actually.'

  
'You?'

  
'No need to sound so surprised.'

  
Arthur shrugged. 'I suppose you do have that bookish look about you.'

  
'And you have that block-head, ignorant soldier look about you.'

  
Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise at Merlin's retort. Hundreds of years and he was still the same man Merlin had met on that sparring field and stopped from taunting a poor servant, earning himself a day in the stocks for calling him an ass. He was still unused to people answering back, still proud and sometimes imperious. But the man he'd eventually grown into, the man Merlin had held tight as he died, was there somewhere too. Merlin would find it as he had done once before.

  
'Come on,' he said, looping an arm under Arthur to prepare him for standing. 'It's dark, let's find shelter and I'll make a fire. In the morning I will get help.'

  
'My men... they'll think I'm dead.'

  
'They'll be looking for you. If I found that smoking carcass of a plane, you think they won't?' Merlin tried to pull Arthur up but he resisted. Bull-headed as ever, Merlin thought.

  
'Then I need to stay here don't I? So they'll see me.'

  
Merlin sighed, frustrated. 'And what if it goes up? What then? We need to move.'

  
Still Arthur was unsure and resisted Merlin's attempts to move him.

  
'Why do you never listen to what's good for you?' Merlin shouted. At  Arthur's confused look, he realised his mistake and quickly backtracked. 'I mean.... look, we have to move. I will stay awake and keep watch in case anyone comes. But please, let's move.'

  
Merlin lifted Arthur to sitting and moved behind him, hooking his arms again under Arthur's shoulders. Arthur groaned, his fists clenching against the pain in his side. He leaned heavily against Merlin, his head lolling against Merlin's shoulder, his strong chest heaving under Merlin's hands. His skin was slick with sweat, the strong, heady smell engulfed Merlin and nearly overwhelmed him. The memories came flooding to him like an enslaught: Arthur's chambers, Arthur's clothes, Arthur's sheets on Arthur's bed.  
He closed his eyes. All he saw was Arthur and Camelot.

 

 

 

  
  
They found shelter in amongst a copse of trees, far enough away from the plane, but with it still in sight. It wasn't a long walk but it sapped all of Arthur's remaining energy. Once he was lying back down, Merlin gingerly un-buttoned Arthur's shirt to inspect the damage. His right side was a livid black and blue where he'd broken his ribs. At least two of them, if not three, as Merlin had suspected. And the wound was bleeding heavily into his gut. Moving him had been dangerous, and he had turned a sickly, deathly white. No concussion though, as far as Merlin could tell, and so, once he was sure he was comfortable, he let him sleep. It was a deep sleep, the interminable sleep of the wounded, so Merlin wasn't worried about using magic.

  
Arthur's shirt lay open, his chest bared to the night, but not the cold. Merlin had lit the fire with magic and as such, it burned with an unnatural, magical heat and light. He ran a shaking hand over Arthur's skin, hot with fever and firelight, clammy to the touch. The orange light bathed him and danced in shadows over him, throwing the lines of his hard-worn muscles into sharp relief. His body was free of the scars Merlin had come to know and recognise, and it was strange to see it as a blank canvass once more. No matter what Merlin did, Arthur would forever throw himself into harm's way if it meant keeping that hurt from someone else, and eventually his body had become a tableau of scar tissue. Now it was fresh again, clean, sculpted, new. Merlin swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Even on their many quests together, when it had been just the two of them, he had rarely dared be so close to Arthur for fear of giving into that which he most desperately yearned for. He could still recall the countless sleepless nights as he lay near him, listening to his breathing, aching to reach out and touch him, knowing he never could, knowing Arthur did not want him to. He had to tell himself it was enough that he could be near him. He had to tell himself it was enough to be his friend, and that it did not kill him every time Arthur called him such. Whatever happened, he would not risk losing what they had. But centuries alone with only his memories had made him reckless and it was all he could do not to lay his head on Arthur's shoulder and sleep.

  
He leaned over the deep, dark bruises on Arthur's skin and pressed his hand against their spreading warmth, uttering a healing spell. His eyes glowed orange and he felt the bones begin to fix and fuse themselves back in place under his touch. The internal bleeding would take longer to stop, but he was confident that the spell would do its work eventually. Arthur would still ache, but he was no longer broken.

 

 

 

  
  
Merlin did not require sleep like mortals do, and he passed the hours of the night in contented wakefulness, watching Arthur's easy breathing and listening for signs of anyone coming to find them.

  
The sun was up by the time he heard anything. Arthur was still fast asleep and so the noise did not stir him. It was the noise of an engine. And it was fast approaching.  
Checking Arthur was safe and comfortable, Merlin crept from their shelter, crouching low, watching the plane and the General Service truck that was now traversing the field towards it, painted the army's standard dark khaki green. These had to be Arthur's men.

  
The truck stopped by the plane and Merlin stood to get a better view, his heart now beating hard and painful against his ribcage, daring to believe, but not wanting to...  
The front passenger door was thrown open, and Merlin saw a shock of black hair as a man he knew well pulled himself from the truck and ran to the plane, his knees buckling as he went. Seeing Arthur not there, he stood and looked around wildly, and his eyes met Merlin's.

  
He was not changed. Even from that distance, Merlin knew every line of his face, the deep, dark well of his brown eyes, the earnest, honest fear for Arthur etched in his expression. Even the way he stood was the same. There was never anything proud or cocksure about him, and yet his courage could not be questioned nor doubted. Kilgarrah had dubbed him the bravest and most noble of them all, and he had shied from the title, proving in that instant his honour, whole and inviolable, sacrosanct. But most of all, he was a true friend, to all of them, and he had died so they might live. Seeing him die had been nothing compared to the heartbreak of seeing him return as Morgana's plaything. His love for Gwen had been something perfect and pure and Morgana had twisted it to her own evil end. As if being in love with the same person as his King and friend had not been torture enough. At least there could be small comfort in the fact that the man he saw now, if he remembered anything with any clarity, he would not remember that. It had not been him. It was but a shade.

  
So how much of this man before him now was the Lancelot he knew?

  
Lancelot blinked and the spell was broken. The others were pouring now from the truck, one by one checking the plane, seeing it empty, then going to stand with Lancelot.  
There was Percival, his blond hair shaved close and neat, half a head taller than anyone else, barrel-chested and strong, the muscles of his arms rippling and tense as he twisted his rifle in his hands, agitated and concerned. Next to him was Leon, his curly hair slicked back under his hat, standing straight and proper in his immaculate uniform, his concern for his commander succinct and absolute. Behind Leon was Elyan, fidgety without being nervous, itching to hurt whoever may have hurt Arthur. He was not rash, but he was only really at peace when he was fighting. And finally, there to the other side of Lancelot, stood Gwaine. His hair was still long and shaggy, a denouncement of authority so typical to Gwaine that Merlin would have expected nothing less. His uniform was scruffy, his skin flushed with excitement. Gwaine never showed fear. Which didn't mean he didn't feel fear for his commander like the others did, only that he didn't understand what showing it would accomplish. He never turned from a fight, the more impossible the better, and if Arthur was in trouble, he would fight to the death to defend him.

  
It was Gwaine who first saw who Lancelot was staring at, and Gwaine who led the charge. Ever the hot-head, he cared nothing for facts, only that Arthur was missing, and the stranger must be to blame. One by one, they each followed Gwaine, though Lancelot was the last to start running, and his rifle was held low.

  
Merlin stepped out from behind the trees, ready to face them down. He raised a hand, a spell to deflect them on the tip of his tongue, when suddenly a shout erupted from behind him.

  
'Stand down!'

  
As one, they all ground to a halt, their weapons lowered. Merlin glanced behind him to see Arthur coming out from the spot he had left him. He was walking gingerly, clearly still in pain, but he held his head high and every aspect of him demanded respect and obedience. His shirt remained unbuttoned and flew open as he moved towards the group, his bruises still showing up livid against his skin, but visibly shrunken in size. Merlin felt a blush creep upon his cheek and forced himself to look away. Arthur never looked so handsome as when he was asserting his authority.

  
'Sir!' Lancelot cried, jumping forward and placing both his hands either side of Arthur's shoulders, as if to check it was really him. 'We thought you were dead.'

  
'But the tracks clearly showed you'd been dragged from your plane,' Leon added.

  
'Are you all right?' Lancelot finished, his brown eyes piercing Arthur's blue.

  
Arthur smiled and clapped an arm over Lancelot's shouder. 'I am. Thanks to this man.' Then he separated himself from Lancelot and stood before Merlin, holding out a hand. 'I don't know how to thank you.'

  
Merlin took his proffered hand and shook it, taking a deep breath to fight the tears in his eyes from falling. He wanted to tell Arthur he didn't have to thank him but he didn't trust his voice not to break.

  
'I don't even know your name,' Arthur said, smiling quizzically at Merlin's silence.

  
Merlin cleared his throat. 'It's Merlin,' he said in a voice that was still a croak. His hand had started to sweat beneath Arthur's. He pulled it away.

  
Arthur instead clapped a friendly hand on Merlin's back. 'Well, Merlin,' he said. 'You must come back to base with us for a feed. It's the least I can do.'

  
Merlin nodded eagerly, cursing his sudden awkwardness.

  
'You said you are a medic. Where are you stationed?' Arthur asked.

  
Merlin mumbled something incoherent, a name that might have sounded like several bases near London, pointing behind him at no direction in particular, misdirecting until Arthur spoke again.

  
'Well, if you do not object, I will request that you transfer to Gravesend with us.'

  
Merlin smiled wide and gave a little nod of the head. 'I do not object.'

  
'Good.'

  
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. Maybe it was wishful thinking but Merlin was sure there was something behind that look. Something like a memory again.

  
Arthur nodded, stepping back with a smile. 'Something tells me I don't want you too far from me.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken Arthurian characters, quests, myths and monsters and mixed them with those we know and love from Merlin. The strongest point of reference has been TH White's Once and Future King, where Lancelot is 'the ill-made Knight' and Pellinore is a bit loopy (He doesn't last too long in Merlin, the poor wee dear).  
> Also props to Queen Annis, the BAMF, to whom I have bestowed a crew of Naval Officers to babysit.  
> I welcome comments - this is baby's first fic!

He hated being left behind. Nearly three weeks had passed, and too many times had he watched Arthur fly into danger without him. But a medic is not a pilot, no matter the fact he could fly one of those things with nothing but his mind. So all he could do was sit, and watch, and wait. And with every passing hour that did not herald Arthur's return, he would pace, and panic, and would not be consoled. Today was no different.

  
It was in the hour before dawn that he saw them at last. Arthur had been given a new plane after his crash and Merlin knew it by heart now, not least because the protection spells he cast over it had left him with a profound bond with the machine. It felt like an old friend, and he always knew when it was near. Arthur had even christened it Guinivere. But the joy of seeing it finally crest the horizon with the others was short-lived. They were two planes too few.

  
They landed one after the other, and Merlin sprinted towards Arthur's Guinevere. Arthur was rushing and struggling to release himself from his straps. A serviceman was trying to reach up to help, but Merlin shouldered him out the way. Arthur looked pale and shaken but there was no blood and no discernible injury.

  
Once free of his straps, Arthur tugged himself from his seat, falling roughly into Merlin who was bowled backwards and barely managed to stay upright.

  
'Lance...' Arthur was mumbling. 'Help Lance.'

  
Merlin looked around for Lancelot and saw Percival was carrying him in his arms. Lancelot was unconscious, and covered in blood. Merlin couldn't see his face.

  
They rushed him to the base's military hospital. Lancelot's injuries were severe, but none so severe that Merlin couldn't fix him. But there was one thing Merlin could do nothing about. Whatever it was that had attacked Lancelot, it had left its mark permanently on him. From the top of his forehead right down to his jaw ran a long, ugly scar that cut diagonally across his face and sliced through his nose, which was doggedly hanging onto his face by skin and gristle alone. Even magic could not fix this. Anything Merlin did would be only a glamour and, by definition, not permanent. Lancelot was alive, but he would be forever disfigured.

 

  
  
Arthur stood and raised his glass. 'To Lance,' he said. 'I owe him a great debt. It is not just this deed that I will never forget. It is his courage, his compassion, his unselfish heart. He is the most noble man I know. And he nearly gave his life to save me.'

  
Merlin forced back a sob. Did Arthur not know the words he was echoing? The very words he spoke after Lancelot did give his life to save all of Camelot from the Dorocha.

  
The men all stood and raised their glasses.

  
'To Lance,' they chorused.

  
When they were seated again and everyone was distracted by their meal, Merlin turned to Arthur.

  
'What happened out there?' he asked.

  
'I'm not even sure I know,' Arthur replied, fixing his meal with a resolute stare. His fingers played absently with the rim of his glass. 'There was something out there with us. Up there with us. Flying. It had... it looked like...' he stopped. He shook his head, dispelling a thought before it was allowed to manifest itself.

  
'What, Arthur?' Merlin persisted. 'Tell me.'

  
'No, it's stupid. I was just exhausted. It must have been an enemy plane. It came straight for me and Lance distracted its attention from me onto him. I would have died if he hadn't been there. And Pellinore...'

  
Merlin's stomach lurched in guilt. He'd been so worried about Arthur's near death that he hadn't spared one thought for the man who hadn't returned. The Pellinore he knew had died fighting the unbeatable wraith, Tristan Dubois, in a duel that was meant for Uther.

  
Elyan heard their comrade's name and turned to the two of them.

  
'We don't know he's dead.'

  
'We saw his plane go down,' Arthur said.

  
'We saw your plane go down, Sir. And we found you.'

  
I found him... Merlin thought, peevishly. Then he saw Arthur's eyes flicker towards him and for just a second, he knew Arthur was thinking the same thing. Not that he'd say it.  
Ever since that day, Merlin had felt charged, relentlessly oscillating between elation and dread. It was a constant state of bewilderment that he could not fight nor fix. And what fuelled it was the absolute certainty that Arthur felt it too. The memories of the man he was had to be there somewhere, if only Merlin knew how to find them for him. And when he did, maybe, just maybe...

  
They had at last been granted the time Merlin had prayed for. Now all that was left was for him not to waste it like he had before.

  
'My point is, we don't know he's dead.'

  
Merlin blinked and came back to the room. Elyan was still speaking. He could see the others were nodding.

  
'We know where we were when he went down,' Percival said. 'We know where to start looking for him.'

  
Arthur looked round at each of his men and nodded. 'In that case - ' he started, but he was cut off by the loud crash of the mess hall door slamming open.

  
Gwaine stood. 'Pellinore!' he shouted, running towards the crumpling heap of a man now lying in the doorway.

  
Merlin followed, shouting at Gwaine to carry Pellinore to the hospital. Arthur was right behind him.

 

  
  
Pellinore slept for nearly twenty-four hours, but otherwise he seemed miraculously unharmed. When he woke, he said he couldn't remember a thing about his accident, but Lancelot, still recovering in the bed next to Pellinore, said that he spoke in his sleep. Something about giant bat's wings and a shadow. And the sound of a baby crying.

  
'What happened out there?' Merlin asked, sitting down next to Lancelot's bed. There had always been something about Lancelot which told Merlin he wouldn't lie, no matter what he'd seen, no matter how crazy he thought it must be.

  
'Honestly, Merlin, I wish I could tell you more,' Lancelot said, his eyes closed. 'It wasn't real. I mean, it was there, but it was a shadow. I shot at it and the bullets, they hit, I know they did, but they went right through. And it was dead fixed on Guinevere. I'm telling you - that thing was ethereal, but it battered and bruised Arthur's plane like it was a toy.'

  
'How did you distract it?'

  
'I don't know. I don't even think I really did. I kept shooting, and eventually, it turned its attention on me. I didn't save Arthur. I did nothing heroic. It just got bored of him and started playing with me instead.'

  
'Then how did you survive?'

  
'Because it had no intention of killing me. Believe me, if it had wanted me dead, I'd be dead. Pellinore too. It didn't want to kill us.'

  
'Then what did it want?'

  
Lancelot shrugged. Pellinore moaned in his sleep. They both turned to look at him. He was pale. He clutched at his sheets like he hoped they would protect him. What did he think he needed protection from?

  
'It passed through me,' Lancelot said, his voice quiet now. 'Before I went down. It was in the plane with me. It said... she called me ill-made.'

  
'She?'

  
He nodded. 'My plane started going down and she stayed right there with me. She did this,' he gestured to the bandages covering his ravaged face. 'I am sure of it.'

  
'Not the crash?'

  
'I told you, she was always with me. I didn't so much crash as I did...land. Unexpectedly. I know it's crazy but I told you - she didn't want to kill me.'

  
'Pellinore went down as well. Why is it no one found him?'

  
'I can only assume... because she didn't want us to. She took him down for a reason. And then she sent him back to us.'

 

  
  
Merlin woke with a start. Someone was hammering on his door. Bleary-eyed and weak from the sleep he'd been so forcefully roused from, he stumbled to the door and pulled it open to find one of the nurses, looking frantic. She said Pellinore was gone.

  
Merlin ran to the hospital. Pellinore's bed was ruffled and empty. Lancelot was awake. He had raised the alarm.

  
'What happened?' Merlin asked. 'Where is he?'

  
'He was talking in his sleep again, about the baby he could hear crying. He said he had to go find it. He sounded frantic, desperate. I managed to talk him through what I thought was another nightmare and I fell back to sleep. When I woke up again, he was gone.'

  
'So we have no way of knowing how long he's been gone?'

  
'Then we have to leave straightaway.'

  
Merlin spun round. Arthur was standing in the doorway, buttoning his shirt, concern and determination etched over his face.

  
'Of course. But where do we start?'

  
'The sea,' Lancelot said. 'He spoke in his sleep of the sea.'

 

  
  
Arthur and Merlin left immediately for the coast, not waking the others. Pellinore had taken one of the BSAs. It was a plodder, and as such would move much slower than the truck Arthur and Merlin were in, but they had no idea how much of a head start he'd had, and he could be at the coast already for all they knew.

  
'Why would he run off like this?' Arthur said. 'He's injured. He's sick. What's gotten into him?'

  
'He's not in his right mind.'

  
'What's done this to him?'

  
'Arthur... Lance told me about the shadow that attacked you.'

  
'Shadow? What shadow? Merlin, you're being stupid.'

  
'You know what I'm talking about. You saw what Lance saw. It took Lance's plane down and it disfigured him. I think it did something to Pellinore as well.'

  
'What kind of idiotic prattle...'

  
'Will you just listen to me?' Merlin shouted. Arthur looked at him, surprised and a little bemused at his outburst. 'No, of course not. Because you never, ever do! Big, strong Arthur, always knows what's best, never wants any help, doesn't matter how many times I'm right or how many times I've saved -'

  
'Merlin,' Arthur cut him off, mid-rant. Merlin swallowed away what he'd been about to say. 'We've talked about this. You're being weird again.'

  
It wasn't Merlin's first accidental outburst and it wouldn't be his last. But he'd gone this far so he thought he may as well soldier on. 'Yeah? Well you're just being a...a...' he paused. Inspiration came to him. He stifled a laugh. 'A dollophead.'

  
'Dollophead? What the hell is that?'

  
'You heard me.'

  
'All right. Describe dollophead.'

  
'In two words?'

  
'Yes.'

  
'Prince...' Merlin stopped. Arthur looked sidelong at him. 'Wing Commander... wait. I need three words.'

  
'Too bad. You ruined it.'

  
Merlin laughed. Arthur joined in. The sound was warm, still one of Merlin's favourite sounds in the many worlds he had lived in.

  
'Thank you,' Arthur said suddenly.

  
Merlin's breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked. Arthur never said thank you. And the time he had...

  
'Wh-what did you say?'

  
'Why so surprised, Merlin? I'm thanking you. This Pellinore thing... I'm always beside myself when I think something's happened to one of my men. But being with you... you have this way. You keep me... you made me laugh.'

  
Arthur brought the car to a halt. They had reached the coast, something Merlin only realised when a breeze whistled through the jeep and ruffled Arthur's hair, a breeze that smelled strongly of sea and salt.

  
Arthur turned and looked at Merlin. Then he clapped a hand on his shoulder. His touch was familar and alien all at once. It was a touch Merlin knew well for all the joy and anguish it brought with it. It filled him with happiness and left him bereft. It was the touch he yearned for and it was not. It was all he desired and all he feared. For it would be too brief, and the connection he craved would never quite be reached, and the emptiness it left him with would be insurmountable.

  
And then Arthur would call him friend.

  
He held his breath, silently putting up whatever guards he had against the emotional onslaught that Arthur never knew he was unleashing. But it didn't come.

  
Arthur opened his mouth to speak but paused, whatever he had been about to say dying in that moment as they stared at each other. His hand didn't move from Merlin's shoulder. His fingers absently squeezed Merlin's skin, clenching and unclenching in no order and in no way to suggest Arthur had any idea what he was doing. His brow furrowed and he looked at his hand, confused that it was moving of its own volition. The fingers stopped. The hand remained.

  
'I get this weird feeling sometimes. It's like a memory. Or rather, memories.'

  
Merlin swallowed. He felt his body start to tip forwards, into Arthur. Or was he being pulled?

  
'I can't describe nor explain it.'

  
'I know... I mean, I understand. The thing is... I don't know how to tell you this, but there's a reason...' he trailed off, lost suddenly in the moment, lost in the realisation that Arthur was staring at his lips as he spoke. He was definitely moving forward. His head felt heavy. He looked at Arthur's mouth, his throat. Arthur swallowed and his lips parted and he let out a breath. Merlin's lips parted too. Then he glanced back up and met Arthur's eye, and a bolt went through him because it was his Arthur staring at him. There was so much understanding behind those eyes. The breeze, the sound of the water... everything pulled them both backwards and they were at Lake Avalon again, holding onto each other, knowing each other more in those few moments than in all their years together. Arthur knew who he was. Arthur knew what he was.

  
And after that surge of understanding came the wall. Brick by indomitable, emotionally stunted brick, the wall went up behind Arthur's eyes and he drew from Merlin as if suddenly stung by the feel of Merlin beneath his hand.

  
Arthur half-coughed, half-laughed, and then pulled a serious face and said they must start looking for Pellinore.

  
Merlin felt winded. Tears sprang to his eyes. He felt like he'd lost him. Arthur was right there, an arm's length from him, but he was gone.

 

  
  
There was a chill in the sea air that had nothing to do with the dark morning or the water. And Merlin saw in the way Arthur's stride faltered that he felt it too.

  
'Something terrible happened here,' he said, moving closer to the water, reaching tentatively for his gun.

  
'There's something in there,' Merlin said. 'Shapes. What are they?'

  
It was maybe an hour before dawn, and the sky was just light enough to show up the atramentous shapes floating on the inky sea. The tide had pushed a few of them onto the shore, and they both approached these cautiously.

  
They were maybe six feet away when they realised that what they were looking at were dead bodies.

  
'What the hell happened here?' Arthur said, crouching down by one of the bodies on the shore. He gripped it by the shoulder and tugged it round onto its back, instantly recoiling as he did so.

  
From a distance, the bodies had appeared untouched, but up close, they were a gory, sinewy mess. Whatever it was that killed them, had torn every nail from their fingers and toes, leaving them red raw and bloody. Their faces were eyeless, toothless wounds. Their mouths hung open, an ulcerated mess, and where their eyes had been were now nothing but gaping, pustulous holes.

  
Merlin moved up the coastline, inspecting each body that lined it as he did so.

  
'They're all the same,' he called out.

  
'Royal Navy,' Arthur said, standing. 'What did this to them?'

  
They heard engines in the near distance and spun round to see military trucks coming towards them. The trucks stopped and men started pouring from them.

  
'More Navy,' Arthur muttered.

  
Several of them had their weapons raised and pointed straight at Merlin and Arthur.

  
'State your business!' one of them shouted. 'Hands in the air!'

  
They both complied, Arthur somewhat sardonically.

  
'Gentlemen, please,' he said. 'I am Wing Commander Arthur Pendragon. This man is a doctor. One of my men is out here somewhere.'

  
A Lieutenant with long, wild red hair and a threatening glint in her eye stepped forward from behind the line of cadets.

  
'As you can see, Commander, hundreds of my men are out here,' she said.

  
Arthur held out a hand in placation. 'Then we are both here for the same reason, and there is no need to argue.'

  
The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow, then nodded, and took Arthur's hand to shake it. She gave a signal to the men behind her, who lowered their weapons.

  
'Forgive me. I am Lieutenant Annis. It is a pleasure to meet you, Wing Commander Pendragon. Don't think us rude, it is just that we have lost so many...'

  
'What did this?' Arthur asked, sweeping an arm over the dead, mutilated bodies.

  
'We don't know. This crew went missing three days ago. About an hour ago our watchmen said they all started bobbing up to the surface like this.' She hung her head and massaged her temple. 'And they aren't the first. Two weeks ago another crew went missing. Three days later their bodies surfaced - just like this.'

  
'Is it always three days?' Merlin asked.

  
'What? Yes. It seems. Why is that relevant?'

  
'It could be everything... especially when we consider that Pellinore heard a baby crying.'

  
'A baby?' Annis scoffed. 'Pendragon, who is this man?'

  
'Merlin. He... his brain works differently to others.' Arthur glared at Merlin, expecting, Merlin suspected, withering obedience in the face of it. But Merlin glared right back.

  
Merlin knew what it was that had killed these men. And, he was certain, what was killing Pellinore as they spoke.

 

  
  
They stayed and helped move the bodies. Merlin counted twenty seven in total. He inspected each one before it was shrouded and moved for burial, just to be absolutely sure that it was what he thought it was. And of course, everything he saw only served to confirm his suspicions.

  
The clean up took a good few hours, and when they were done, Lieutenant Annis invited them back to the Naval base for food and some rest. They gratefully accepted the offer, weary as they were, and returned to the nearby base. They ate, and listened to the dismal funeral talk, and spoke a little of Pellinore, and when they retired, Annis promised to put men on lookout for their friend. Merlin would not have said in front of Arthur that it was hopeless for anything. Let him sleep, he thought. First I will let him sleep.

  
They walked to the room they had been assigned in silence. Merlin could feel his eyes drooping. Next to him, Arthur's own exhaustion emanated out in waves. They paused at the door, Arthur's shoulders hunched. Merlin reached out and touched him on the arm, just as Arthur reached out and pushed open the door.  
Daylight streamed out, bright and piercing and impossible, from the windowless room. Merlin put a hand to his eyes and blinked at it, his eyes aching at its intensity. As he blinked, the room started to come back into focus. And it took his breath away.

  
It was Camelot. It was Arthur's room. And it was all so familiar. There was the long table, and the two windows where the impossible sunlight was streaming from. There was the archway, and Arthur's four poster bed just beyond. The smell was the same, the air that drifted through the windows was the same, even the light was the same. It was all there, and all so real that it hurt.

  
Arthur walked forwards into the room and it was as if a shroud had been drawn over it. It was instantly bathed in darkness, and with the soft click of a light switch, the artificial light was back and Camelot was gone.

  
Merlin looked at Arthur. He was pale and looking wildly about himself.

  
'Arthur, did you...'

  
Arthur cleared his throat. 'Let's sleep for a few hours,' he said, his voice determined, fighting something, ignoring something. 'Then go and look for Pellinore again.'

  
'Annis has lookouts posted, looking for him. What more can we do that they...'

  
'We have to try.' Arthur's voice was final, commanding. 'You're acting like he's gone. You're acting like we should give up.'

  
Merlin took a deep breath. How could he tell him? He knew what it was, he knew that Pellinore was dead and he knew, no matter what they did or where they looked, they wouldn't find his body for another three days.

  
Its name was the Ahuizotl. First documented in the Florentine Codex by a Francisan Friar, stories of its existence had long since passed into myth, but now, Merlin was faced with absolute proof that it was real, and it was here.

  
The size of a small dog, with slick, black fur like rubber, the Ahuizotl's most prominent feature is its long tail that ends in a clawed hand, which it uses to pull people to their deaths. It lives in bodies of water and mimics the sound of a baby crying to draw its prey to the water's edge, where they are dragged under and will not be seen again for three days. When they resurface, their teeth, eyes and nails are all eaten - the parts of the human body considered to be a delicacy to the monster.

  
Monsters and magic were part of the world Merlin used to share with Arthur. How was he supposed to bring that world back for this Arthur, now?

  
Arthur sat down on a bed. He still looked shaken. Had he seen Camelot a moment ago as Merlin had? Had it all been so familiar, as it had to Merlin? Maybe he would be receptive to what Merlin had to tell him, maybe his mind was open right now.

  
'Don't let me sleep for too long,' Arthur said. 'I'm exhausted. Falling asleep on my feet.'

  
He's dismissing it as a dream, Merlin thought. He sat down on the bed opposite Arthur's. 'I won't. I will stay awake.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlin decides to shapeshift into a terrier so he can be by Arthur's side always, and then, oh look, they're in bed together and Merlin just happens to accidentally shift back into a man. Unfortunately they're both naked at the time.
> 
> Oh and there's some stuff with a minotaur and the Cath Palug and Sir Kay makes an appearance.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Merlin lay awake as Arthur slept soundly, his mind in turmoil. The shock of seeing Camelot was still on him, and the certainty that Arthur had seen it too weighed even heavier. Merlin rolled over in his little uncomfortable bed and stared through the darkness at the outline of his friend. His eyes used now to the dark, he felt he could see Arthur clearly. If he reached out, he could have touched him. He almost did. Then suddenly Arthur let out a cry, and his hand clutched at his blankets, his body suddenly constricted.

  
Merlin sat up. 'Arthur?' he said. Arthur's face and body were contorted in pain; he squirmed and he groaned, but he did not respond.

  
Merlin clambered from his own bed to the cold stone floor next to Arthur's and grasped Arthur's arm, shaking it. 'Arthur, wake up,' he said, as forceful as he could. 'You're having a nightmare. Wake up. Come back.' He nearly added: 'to me', but he swallowed the words down when Arthur cried out again. It was a word this time. It sounded like a name. Then Arthur was pleading with someone, his voice heartbroken and destroyed. The word was Mordred. Arthur was dreaming of Camlann, and his death.

  
Merlin shook him again, harder this time. 'Arthur, you must wake up,' he said. 'Leave that place. Come back.' He stood up and leaned over Arthur, taking both his shoulders and shaking him twice, punctuating each shake with: 'Come. Back.'

  
Arthur opened his eyes, disorientated and afraid. 'Merlin,' he said. 'What happened? Where...'

  
'It's all right, you were dreaming.'

  
Arthur sat up. Merlin reluctantly let go of him. 'It felt so real. Like it was a...'

  
'A memory?'

  
Arthur's eyes clouded over. He shook his head. 'But it was only a dream.'

  
'What else do you dream of?'

  
'I forget them mostly after I wake. Sometimes I dream of a castle. I dream of battles and swordfighting. Of one sword in particular... Of Knights, and of a table. And I dream...' he stopped, the words caught sharp in his throat. He stared at Merlin.

  
Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath. 'Of me?'

  
Arthur looked away determindedly. 'Of a woman. She is a servant and then she is Queen. I think I am meant to love her. I have had these dreams for as long as I can remember. My father used to say-'

  
'Your father?'

  
'Well, yes, Merlin. I didn't spring up from thin air.'

  
'No I mean - it's just you've never talked about him before.'

  
Arthur shrugged. 'I've never had cause to.'

  
'What's he like?'

  
'He is a good man. He was a gunner in the army. Very stern... strict. My upbringing was not easy. But he moulded me into the man I am today and I have much to thank him for.'

  
'And your mother?'

  
'I never knew her. I don't even have any memories of her. I know I joked about not coming from thin air but...' he stopped. He laughed at himself. 'No, it's absurd.'

  
'What? What's absurd? You can tell me.'

  
'Ha ha well, sometimes I wonder where I really came from. I have little to no memories of my father when I was little. I have no idea who my mother might have been. But I do have one very specific memory that honestly I can barely explain. I just remember being alone. And I remember a lake. Like maybe... was I abandoned in the woods, by a lake, and my father found me there? I don't know. Maybe he's not my real father. My real family left me.'

  
Merlin felt a heavy stone lodge itself in the pit of his stomach. Arthur was 26 years old. That meant he was born in 1914. Arthur came back, possibly he rose from Lake Avalon as Merlin had always believed he would, in the year the war broke out - the year Merlin gave up waiting for him. Arthur had returned for this war, not the last one. Merlin had got it wrong. That meant that even as Merlin was walking away, Arthur was coming back to him, as had been promised. And Merlin hadn't been there. He had left him on his own.

  
'I am sorry you were on your own, Arthur,' Merlin said, his mouth barely moving, his emotion and his guilt drowning him. He felt sick. His failure consumed him.

  
'I wasn't really. I don't even know if that's a memory or another stupid dream. My father loved me and he looked after me. When I was ten, he was blessed with a large inheritance and he sent me to the best schools in the country with it. I got into Harrow on a scholarship. He's certainly the reason I can proudly call myself Wing Commander.'

  
'And Pendragon? Was that your father's name?'

  
'A family name. He said I should adopt it before I went to Harrow. So I could go all pomp and circumstance.'

  
They fell into a contemplative silence, each battling with their own thoughts and feelings over Arthur's revelation.

  
'I've never talked to anyone about that,' he said.

  
'It is safe with me.'

  
'I was lucky really. I was loved.'

  
Merlin stared at him. He saw the lie there, and he would never forgive himself.

 

 

  
  
Merlin made a decision that night. He would never leave Arthur on his own again.

  
Over the centuries, he had honed his magic into something far more powerful than anything he had used to help Arthur before. Healing spells he could do with the touch of his hand, aging spells with nothing more than an incantation. But the most useful talent he had perfected was shape-shifting. His favourite thing to shift into when he wished to go unnoticed was a small, black terrier with orange eyes. Many of the other pilots had dogs that they took flying with them; they were seen as good luck charms and mascots. He was sure that was what he could be for Arthur. Now that he knew how unforgivably he had let Arthur down, he resolved never to do it again.

  
Back at base, Merlin went straight to his room, bone-weary and emotionally drained. He thought maybe he could sleep. He even lay down on the bed. And that was when he heard it. A snort, like that of a bull, somewhere behind him. He froze.

  
'Who's there?' he said, his voice calm, measured. He stood up.

  
The snort again. 'A friend.' The voice behind him was deep, booming, but well-educated and well-mannered. It spoke in Ancient Greek.

  
'I sense you are something old like me, friend,' Merlin responded in English. 'What business have you here?'

  
'I have returned something which belongs to you, Emrys. It lays in a hospital bed, waiting for you.'

  
'And what have you returned to me?'

  
'A man. He was drowning when I found him. I rescued him from the Ahuizotl's jaws.'

  
'And the Ahuizotl?'

  
'I have killed it. It was not in its own time.'

  
'If all this is true, then you have done me a great service, and you are a true friend indeed as you say. Will you show yourself to me?'

  
'There is much I must tell you, much that you are yet to understand, and I fear that if you see me, you will not listen to me.'

  
'Why is that?'

  
'Some people say I am a monster.'

  
'People have said the same of me.'

  
'People say I am an abomination. I am the godsless progeny of a cursed woman. The cruel outcome of a crueller punishment. I was killed but I am somehow returned, out of my time, and I will not be the only one. I may, however, be the only one who wishes you no harm.'

  
'I believe you wish to help me. Let me look at you.' Merlin heard the snort again, then silence. 'Is that an agreement?'

  
A light footstep, the creak of bones and hardened muscle. 'Very well, you may turn around.'

  
Merlin did as he was told and had to stifle a gasp at the sight of the being before him. The Minotaur towered over him, his great bull's head cramped down slightly against the ceiling of Merlin's room. He was bare-chested, his body rippling with muscles and old, shining scars long healed. The hair on his chest and arms was thick like an animal hide, and matted in some places. Merlin could feel the powerful, magical energy emanating from the creature in waves.

  
'You do not cower, warlock?'

  
'You have promised you are a friend to me, and I have said I believe you. And besides, I have known beings far larger and fearsome than you.'

  
'If your aim is to insult me, know that you failed. I never asked to be a monster. I never wanted to be monstrous. But I was slain for it. And now that I am back, I am here to help you, so that maybe one person will know the truth of what I am.'

  
'Help me with what?'

  
'With the real danger in Albion. The evil in this land is so great that it is calling out to monsters, to old evils that are long dead, and evil is drawn here. You do not know how to fight this, Emrys.'

  
'And you do?'

  
'I have more hope than you. The Ahuizotl was only the first, and it was nothing compared with what is coming. The man we must blame for this war called upon such pure, undiluted evil in his hatred to help his cause that I fear Albion is already lost.'

  
'Arthur will protect it, at any cost. And I will protect Arthur.'

  
'Yes, I know that. It is your destiny to protect Arthur. But it is, as it always was, Arthur's destiny to die. You know you cannot change fate. You must not  be so foolish as to think you can try again.'

  
'I will not lose him again.'

  
'I am sorry, but you will. It is all written. Small details may change, but the end will always be the same. You left Arthur alone when he returned - do you think the man who found him was an accidental fortune? Do you think the inheritance that put Arthur through the best schools and on course for the title and role he has now was just luck? He has a path and destiny just as much as you do. Even when there is a bump in the road, fate finds a way.'

  
'So what are you saying?'

  
'You will meet a monster. It will be a monster you know well, thought you do not know it yet. You will think you have bested it, but it will be more dangerous to you than any other foe you may meet. Beware this monster and be sure to let the proper agency destroy it.'

  
'A monster I know, and do not?'

  
'Your enemy and your friend, the druid Mordred.'

  
'Why would Albion return one of its greatest threats in a time of trouble?'

  
'Many things have been drawn back to Albion. Much good, but there is evil too. But you must not confuse good with evil, or evil with good. You must know your enemies, and know your friends, and know when to fight, and when to stand aside.'

 

 

  
  
Pellinore was in hospital as the minotaur had promised. Lancelot, still recovering, was there with him when Merlin arrived, as was Arthur.

  
'How is he?' Merlin said, rushing across the room to his bedside.

  
'All right physically, it would seem,' Arthur said. 'But his mind...'

  
'The beast!' Pellinore suddenly shouted. 'It is my destiny, my only purpose! I must kill the beast.' He began writhing in the bed, trying to sit up. It took both Arthur and Merlin to hold him back down.

  
'What's he raving about?' Merlin said, ducking from Pellinore's thrashing.

  
'It's all he's talked about,' Lancelot said. 'This beast.'

  
Suddenly Pellinore clutched at Merlin's shirt, pulling him close and shaking him. 'Emrys!' he said. 'Emrys, help me. You must help me find the beast.' Then his eyes focused on Arthur. 'Wart!' he cried. 'How are you here, Wart? Never mind... never mind... you know the Pellinore fate as well as I. You must help me!'

  
'What is he calling you?' Lancelot said.

  
'Emrys? I have no idea...' Merlin mumbled.

  
'Wart is a name from my school days,' Arthur said. 'How could he have heard that?'

  
'Maybe he didn't hear it,' came a voice from the doorway. 'Maybe he saw how it suited you, Wart.'

  
Merlin and Arthur looked round at the newcomer. He was a large man, burly without being muscly, with a paunch and flushed skin. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded, leering at Arthur. Merlin instantly disliked him.

  
'Kay,' Arthur said, standing up straight.

  
Pellinore took the opportunity of being released by Arthur to try to get out of bed again. Merlin clamped a hand on his shoulder and put a sleeping enchantment on him. Only Lancelot seemed to notice the effect Merlin's touch had had on Pellinore. He cast Merlin an inquisitive glance which Merlin pretended not to see.

  
'Arthur. I see you're still pawing over young boys. Trying to assert some authority?'

  
'You will address him correctly,' Lancelot said, his dislike for this man Kay evident in his scowl. 'This is Wing Commander Pendragon. Who are you?'

  
'Oh, I know who he is. And he knows me well. Don't you, Wart?'

  
'It's all right. I know him. We practically grew up together. He  means no harm.'

  
Kay laughed, the sound was harsh and unpleasant. 'Never did you any harm before, did I?'

  
'What are you doing here, Kay?'

  
'I transferred. Couldn't pass up the chance to join you here when I heard what you were doing. Maybe we should catch up later?'

  
Merlin looked round at Arthur. He looked miserable. He clenched his jaw and nodded.

 

 

  
  
They were due to fly out first thing the next morning. Merlin took his chance before the sun was up, clambering into Arthur's plane and shifting there into the terrier for Arthur to find.

  
Not wanting to scare him while they were in flight, he made his presence known once Arthur was strapped in. Arthur jumped and spun around, his face immediately brightening when he saw the dog.

  
'Well, who do we have here?' he said, twisting awkwardly to pick Merlin up and ruffle his shaggy black fur. Merlin nuzzled at Arthur's neck and revelled at his warmth, his raw closeness.

  
'Looks like you've made a friend,' Gwaine called out as he passed Arthur's plane.

  
Arthur laughed. 'Yes, looks that way, doesn't it? I wonder where he came from.'

  
'Well, he obviously wants to stay close to you. And speaking of things that want to be close to you... where's Merlin?'

  
Merlin felt a tug of irritation at Gwaine's candid frankness, but instantly the tug was lost at the feel of the hot blush that crept from Arthur's chest to his neck.

  
'I've no idea where Merlin is,' he said, too quickly, a touch too emphatically.

  
Gwaine raised his hands in mock supplication. 'Sorry, Sir. No idea why I thought to suggest that you'd know where he is first thing in the morning.'

  
Merlin heard that unpleasant barking laugh that he disliked so much and saw Kay walk up behind Gwaine, and clap him hard on the back.

  
'If you're trying to suggest Wart's had anyone in his bed, you clearly don't know your Commander, boy!' Kay said, his mocking laughter cruel and cutting.

  
'Who are you calling boy, pal?' Gwaine said, squaring up to Kay.

  
'Gwaine,' Arthur called out. 'Leave it.'

  
Gwaine immediately stepped back at Arthur's instruction, but he didn't take his eyes off Kay. Merlin felt a growl deep in his belly bubble up from somewhere unbidden. He didn't like Kay. He specifically didn't like how he seemed to make Arthur feel.

 

 

  
  
The mission was, as far as Merlin could gather, meant to be routine. It had taken them West, towards Wales and its outlying islands. They were over Anglesey when Merlin sensed it: something powerful, something evil. Leon came over the radio saying he could see something down there. Elyan said he saw it too. Fire, they said. And billowing smoke.

  
'Well let's not waste any time,' Kay's voice barked. 'Are we soldiers or aren't we?'' And without waiting for permission or any kind of word from his commander, he started to land.

  
'Dammit, Kay,' Arthur said. 'This isn't what we're here for.'

  
'I'll go after him, Sir,' Leon said.

  
'No, you all go on,' Arthur said. 'I'll go after him.'

  
The clouds parted for them as they landed and the terrible scene below was revealed. The island was small, and nothing had been spared. The ground was charred, burning and black and strewn with bodies and blood. They landed next to Kay's plane, but Kay himself was nowhere to be seen. There was something down there with them. A monster.

  
Arthur was swiftly unstrapping himself when they heard the roar. It wasn't too far away, and it was swiftly followed by a man crying out in pain. Frightened now for Arthur, Merlin cast a spell over him to make him sleep. Merlin shifted back into a man, and threw on the pair of cargo shorts he had secreted within the plane. Then he ran towards the sound.

  
Past the cluster of abandoned houses, he saw the monster. It was a giant black cat, five times the size of Kay. It towered as tall as a house, blood and old entrails dropping from its teeth; the rotting flesh that remained caught in its fangs washing the air with the most offensive, sickening smell. Kay was dodging and ducking, occsionally shooting his hand gun. The bullets met their target, but the animal's thick hide was protecting it.

  
'You must let Kay fight the beast.'

  
Merlin spun round in surprise at the low, gruff voice, to see the minotaur crouching uncomfortably in the ruins of a house.

  
'I must help him,' Merlin said.

  
'No. It is written that Kay will kill the Cath Palug.'

  
'The what?'

  
'It surprises me that you do not know the name, warlock. The great and fearsome Cath Palug, born of Henwen and cast into the Menai Strait for its monstrosity, there to drown.'

  
'Another old evil, drawn to Albion?'

  
'Aye. Very old, fearsome and vengeful. Sir Kay must best it in battle. It is written.'

  
'It sounds like it is only a monster because people called it a monster. Like you.'

  
The minotaur shook his great head. 'Do not underestimate the creature. If given the chance, she will kill you.'

  
'This is the monster you were talking about? The monster you said I will not be able to fight and defeat?'

  
'You will think you have bested it. You must leave fate to do its job. You must not get involved.'

  
'And what if I don't try to kill it? What if I try to understand it?'

  
'You cannot win, warlock.'

  
Kay shot his gun and got the beast in the eye It whimpered and flailed, its monstrous tail swishing wildly, taking down walls and trees with it.

  
Merlin ducked beside the minotaur, protecting himself from the destruction. 'Do you see?' he shouted. 'It is destructive because it is hurt and scared, and angry at the wrongs done to it.'

  
'She has killed hundreds of people.'

  
'How many did you kill? If I show her I want to help her and understand, why do we need to kill her?'

  
Merlin cast a spell over Kay and the pilot fell unconscious, the shot he had been readying dying in the chamber.

  
'You are making a mistake.'

  
'No! I'm beating your stupid fate.'

  
Merlin approached the Cath Palug, his hands raised, ignoring the minotaur's warnings. The Cath Palug saw Merlin and bared its teeth. The smell of rotting flesh washed over him. Holding his breath, he opened his arms wide and bowed to the creature, uttering a spell so he could hear her thoughts.

  
'What is this?' she purred. 'Is the man not afraid? Does he not tremble?'

  
'I tremble in the face of your power, great Cath Palug,' Merlin said. The beast's eyes widened. 'But I believe you to be misunderstood. And I want to help you.'

  
'Help me? How?'

  
'Others would try to kill you. I see your greatness, your magnificence. You have had your vengeance. Be satisfied. I will let you live here, unmolested for as long as you desire. No one will touch you.'

  
The Cath Palug laughed. 'You will let me?'

  
'There is goodness in you. Am I right that I am the first to see it? Let this not end in more spilled blood. Let us part as friends to each other.'

  
Merlin bowed again, keeping his head respectfully low, his heart hammering. The beast could kill him now with one swipe of its claws, and she was certainly thinking about doing it. But at the last moment, she dropped her head in a bow in return.

  
'You are the first person I have ever called friend.'

  
'I will be a good friend to you.'

  
The two met eye to eye as equals. Merlin felt his chest swell with pride. To hell with fate, he thought. He would be its plaything no longer. He banished the minotaur's warning. He had battled the beast and both had won.

 

 

  
  
Leaving Kay to come to on his own, hopefully having learned a lesson about not following orders, Merlin returned to Arthur, and to dog form. Arthur was still unconscious, and so Merlin took a bit too much pleasure in lapping at his face to wake him up. He was disorientated and groggy, but he jumped to action immediately, saying to no one in particular, or perhaps to Merlin the dog, that he had to find Kay.

  
When they reached Kay, he was just waking up. Arthur nudged him with his boot and asked if he was hurt.

  
'I don't think so...' Kay said, slowly standing.

  
'What do you think you were doing?' Arthur folded his arms angrily but Merlin was sure he sensed a little awkwardness in Arthur, exerting his authority over this man. He wished he knew why.

  
'Chasing danger,' Kay said in a distant tone. 'Did you see it?'

  
'See what?'

  
'It was... it looked like...' he shook his head. 'No. I must have been knocked unconscious.'

  
'What could have done all this damage?'

  
'I have no idea.' Kay looked nervous. 'Maybe we should just go.'

 

 

  
  
Once they returned to base, much later than the rest, Arthur chose to eat alone in his room, and took a delighted Merlin the dog with him. He ate sparingly, thoughtfully, and fed Merlin scraps after every other mouthful, letting him lap at his fingers. It was possible Merlin had never been so content. That was, of course, until Arthur got into bed and patted at the covers to invite Merlin in with him. The offer made Merlin a little light-headed, and he missed the bed on the first jump by about an inch, scrabbling at the sheets and then eventually falling in a heap on the floor. Arthur laughed kindly at him and leant down to pick him up. Merlin stretched out on the bed, lying down the length of Arthur's side, and Arthur scratched his belly. Merlin thought he could weep.

  
'I don't understand why Kay is here,' Arthur mumbled, his voice barely audible. 'Is it just to torment me? Must he follow me everywhere? I wish I understood him. I never did. But he always knew how to get int my head.' He sighed and ruffled Merlin's ears. 'But come now, we haven't even given you a name. Let's look at you.' Merlin obediently sat up and stared at Arthur. 'God, you look like...' Arthur stopped and groaned. 'Well, now I'm going crazy. I'm seeing Merlin everywhere. I'm  dreaming about him, I'm seeing him in you... what's the matter with me?' Merlin barked happily and lapped at Arthur's face. Arthur laughed and pushed him away, keeping his arms wrapped around Merlin even as he did so. 'What was it Pellinore called Merlin earlier? Emrys. Let's call you Emrys. It'll be our secret.'

  
Arthur rolled over and spooned Merlin, his face nestled in Merlin's fur. Merlin closed his eyes and sank contentedly into the embrace he'd waited for his whole life.

  
It wasn't necessarily that he'd been asleep, for he didn't need sleep, he'd just been so content his guard was completely down, and the spell melted off him. He wasn't even aware he had changed back into man until he felt the slight chill on his bare skin, no longer covered with fur. To get warm again, he instinctively nestled backwards towards the sheets, and towards Arthur's bare, hot skin. In his sleep, Arthur responded. His arms were wrapped around Merlin's body, one hand on Merlin's chest, the other on his belly, dangerously, deliciously close to that one part of Merlin that was beginning to throb with an urgency Merlin had never before known. Arthur moaned in his sleep and pressed his warm, naked body against Merlin's, clutching a little harder to Merlin's skin, his face in the crook of Merlin's neck, his breath hot, his mouth searching. Merlin's heart was hammering. He shifted, moving backwards ever so slightly, and when Arthur responded, his body hot and hard and insistent, Merlin's breath caught in his throat, and a moan escaped. He was hard now too, throbbing to the point it hurt; he was on fire. Arthur was moving now, his own hardness rubbing Merlin. Merlin's legs parted an inch and then Arthur was between them, hot and throbbing, and slightly wet. Arthur moved between Merlin's thighs, his fingers grasping at Merlin's slick skin, his mouth pressed hard against Merlin's neck, his breathing heavy and ragged, a moan catching in his throat with each thrust, his body shaking now, aching for release. Merlin was desperately conflicted, torn between wanting to turn around and face Arthur, hold him, look into his eyes as he seeks this release from him, and not wanting to risk ruining this moment. And then Arthur's hand moved, and in one, excrucating moment, it was suddenly wrapped around Merlin, and it was moving, and Merlin was going to explode. Arthur was growing more and more insistent with his movements and Merlin knew he was nearly there. So Merlin said his name, a whisper at first, but Arthur responded, so Merlin said it again.

  
'Arthur,' he moaned. 'Arthur, Arthur...' his voice was louder now, it was becoming a command. A command for Arthur to come to him completely.

  
Then Arthur responded: 'Merlin,' and Merlin dissolved.

  
He came, hard and completely, his body connvulsing and on fire. He felt Arthur do the same, the warm wetness covering Merlin's thighs. Arthur shook and pawed at Merlin's skin, moaning loudly and with abandon.

  
The two of them lay together, the moment timeless and beautiful. Arthur's body relaxed again and he was deeply asleep, still wrapped around Merlin's shaking, sweating, contented body. Merlin wept.

 

 

  
  
Extricating himself from Arthur's hold had seemed an impossible task, not least because of the tight grip Arthur had on him. It was the last thing Merlin wanted to do, but he dreaded Arthur waking to find him there. The moment had been perfection, but was Arthur ready to admit to himself it was not a dream? Merlin didn't dare take the risk.

  
Dawn was not far off, and the base would be bustling with people before long. Merlin had stolen clothes from Arthur's room, hoping he would not miss them before they could be returned, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, the smell of Arthur all around him. His thighs were still slightly wet, slightly sticky, and his arousal at realising this put a spring to his step. He needed to be alone. He needed to relive that moment with Arthur, and he needed to do it alone, with his hands on himself.

  
He trotted back towards his room, happier than he'd felt in a long time. The moment he had shared with Arthur felt like everything to him. Hearing Arthur say his name, feeling his hot skin against him like that, sensing the happiness, the abandon in him, knowing it was Merlin's doing... it was a dream.

  
And not only that, but he had proven the minotaur wrong as well. He had bested the Cath Palug, and bested fate, and sealed a pact of friendship with the beast that fate foretold would be Arthur's undoing.

  
He was lost in his head, considering these countless joyous things, when he heard the sound that changed everything. Running water, and the splashing of a person washing something in the water. How was it he could hear water? How was that possible? There was no water nearby.

  
Nervous, he followed the sound. It took him round the back of the base by the perimeter fence. Running along the other side of the fence, inexplicably, was a river. Merlin approached it, his heart hammering painfully against his chest. There was a woman sitting on the riverbed. She was dressed in green rags that barely covered her withered, sagging skin, and she had webbed feet and fingers like long, pointed sticks, jointed and twisted impossibly as they fell to their work. Her face was a bulbous mass of warts, with one protruding, sharp tooth sticking out of her ulcerated mouth. She was terrifying to look upon, and Merlin knew what she was.

  
They are caled the mnathan nighe, the spirits of women who died in childbirth and are destined to be portents of doom. They are not dangerous themselves, just the message they carry with them. They inhabit riverbeds, washing the bloodstained linen of those doomed to die.

  
Merlin approached her carefully. He knew the rules well.

  
'Whose clothes do you wash, woman?' he said, his body pressed against the cold wire of the fence, his fingers looped through it.

  
'Are you Emrys?' the woman said, her voice dry and sharp as metal.

  
'I am.'

  
'Are you the sorcerer who thinks he can control and change fate?'

  
'I am the man who knows that, yes.'

  
She breathed in, slow, ragged, the noise crackling like laughter in her throat. 'Are you ready to watch your beloved die again?'

  
Merlin shook the fence angrily, once. It rang out, unnaturally sharp in the air. 'No! No he will not die!'

  
The spirit shook her head. 'Do not lie to yourself or to me, Emrys.'

  
'I have answered your questions. Now tell me, whose clothes do you wash?'

  
'You know the answer to that, Emrys. My business here is done.'

  
She stood and walked into the night, leaving the blood-stained linen trailing behind her.

  
It was Arthur's.


End file.
